


The Only Secret You Will Keep

by fraufi666



Category: Political RPF - Australian 20th-21st c., Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Politics, Authority Figures, BDSM, Crack, F/M, M/M, Male Slash, Nudity, Power Dynamics, Romance, Sexual Content, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 20:02:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5839075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraufi666/pseuds/fraufi666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After winning the Spycatcher case, Turnbull finds himself in the most unlikely situation with the most powerful person of the Thatcher government. What exactly are the Iron Lady’s intentions? And will he make it out of the darkness unscathed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Secret You Will Keep

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is a historical AU. Although I have used historical figures and some references based from real events, (e.g. Thatcher’s time in power, the Spycatcher Case) this is entirely a work of fiction. All romantic encounters, events and insinuations are from my imagination. I mean no disrespect to any of the people depicted. I am also in no way politically biased.

He woke up in darkness, save for the light emanating from a small globe dangling from the ceiling. The air around him felt damp, as if he were many feet below the ground. He tried to stand up but to his shock realised that he was tied to a chair. 

 _Where am I?_ Turnbull wondered. He could not recall ever being here and he tried to remember which events had led him to his current predicament. But it was all in vain.

"Hello?!" He called out nervously. He tried to keep calm. Surely this was all just a prank. But why was it so hard to remember?  

"Ah, I see you have awoken." A voice responded. It was surprisingly female, complete with a British accent, which sounded oddly familiar. But his mind was blank. Desperately, he tried to pull his hands out of a bind, but the knots were tight.  

"Who is it?!" the barrister called out. He was feeling a little anxious, but he was grouchier with the idea of being taken to a place he did not know, rather than terrified "Is this your idea of a joke?"  

A silhouette became more visible as the other person stepped closer to the light. From what he could see, the person…a _woman_ was dressed in a smart skirt suit that could only really be worn by someone in power. A light, floral fragrance wafted closer to him. He frowned, knowing that he should know who she was. But then, as the light rays touched her face, he remembered.

With cold, blue eyes, Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher gazed at him without a single care in the world. Yet he noticed that her fists were clenched. She was angry about something and he knew that he had something to do with it.  

"Mr Turnbull. I've heard so much about you." The older woman said in mock politeness, "Now, do you see _why_ you are here?"

The Australian pondered. "Oh." He realised with a smile, trying to ease the tension, "Yes, I do…Mrs Thatcher… _Spycatcher*_. I was good, wasn't I?" He said with a laugh. 

Suddenly, her stiletto was on his chair between his legs. He jolted, realising that he was so close to having his manhood trodden upon. 

"Yes. You were. So good that I want to make a deal with you." Thatcher responded, still without anger in her voice. 

"A deal?"  

"Yes, Mr Turnbull, a deal." Thatcher replied condescendingly. "You must know _exactly_ what I am talking about. You allowed the secrets of a spy…not one of your own… _our_ spy, to release confidential material to the public. You had allowed one of our own people to commit treason. And for that, you deserve to be punished." 

Turnbull laughed, "You must be joking. If you want to blackmail me, fine. But the law is the law and I've already won the case. To turn it back now would only make your government incompetent…like you are _hiding_ something." 

She glared at him, her heel inching closer to him. "My government is not incompetent. You are the one who had assisted in an act of treason! And my contemporaries know that I never joke."

"A deal?" Turnbull repeated stupidly, hiding his confusion with a sneer. Who was she to tell him how things were to play out? She was merely a woman who happened to be in the seat of power, nothing more. "I am not agreeing with anything that you say." In the light it did strike him with how attractive she was, regardless of her age. Now seeing her close up made him understand why so many of his conservative counterparts had found her very beautiful. He eyed her pale legs, still grinning. Maybe, he could be prepared to make a compromise, "It depends on what kind of deal." He continued. "Untie me first so we can negotiate." 

She wagged a finger at him "Not so fast." Her smile illuminated in the darkness, "You are in the wrong, so there is no reason why I should release you. If you follow everything I tell you, I _will_ let you go. But if not…well. Let's just say that things aren't going to get any better for you."

Already feeling uncertain about his circumstances, he decided to play it safe. "I'll take the first." He said. Perhaps there was something in there for him too. 

 "Very well. I want you to take off my panties." 

The younger man's eyes widened. He gave a chuckle, trying to hide his nervousness. "What?" He gasped. 

"It's all very simple, Mr Turnbull. Take off my panties." There was not a trace of desperation or lust in her voice. It was calm and clinical, as if a Prime Minister giving a technical request to her colleague.  

"Okay, fine."  Turnbull said with a smirk. She went over to untie only his arms and he obeyed, slipping his hands up the blue skirt. He pulled at the soft material underneath, stopping once it went down her thighs.

"All the way down, Mr Turnbull." Thatcher instructed. "No dilly dallying." As soon as they were on the floor she pulled his face closer to her. "Now you know what to do next." 

His hands made their way up her skirt and finally found the area that was of concern. But as he touched her, there was no trace of desire in those cold blue eyes. She looked straight through him, as if there was nothing happening to her. 

"Oh do try harder, Mr Turnbull. If you want to be Prime Minister, you have to be persistent." His fingers began to work faster, to 'which she exhaled, "Yes, Mr Turnbull." She purred in approval, "Good boy. You know just how to do it." 

He could feel a sense of pride as he realised that it was _he_ who was making the Iron Lady gasp and moan. And accompanying the pride was pleasure, which began to show in the rise of his pants. 

"Yes…" Thatcher moaned, "Do hurry. You're taking an incredibly long time."

But as soon as he heard that desperation in his voice, a wicked smile formed upon his lips. He had the power to change her at this moment, right when she was in a vulnerable position. He could easily turn her off as a switch. And so he did. He pulled his hand away, leaving her only moments away from her climax. 

"What?!" Thatcher snapped, noticing that he was beginning to work at the ropes in an attempt to pleasure himself. She slapped his hand. "We had a _deal_." 

The Australian laughed. "And now it's my turn." He said with a smirk. God she looked so cute angry and frustrated like that. Once he was free from these bonds, he would make her beg and then make her satisfy him until he could give her what she wanted…if he decided to. He had won, for the second time against her and it was enough to make him lean back in his chair, tucking his hands behind his head as if he were on a beach chair by the pool instead of an obscure dark room.  

"Remember, Maggie…I won. There is no way I am going to give you the satisfaction you want if it is far more enjoyable to watch you squirm as you are denied it." 

She glared at him. It seemed as if she was about to strike him, yet she was calm and her voice was level, albeit stern "You may _think_ that you have won for deceiving me…but you are the one who will lose. Because, you see…we negotiated that if you did as I have asked, you'd be offered your release."

He had grown silent as it dawned on him that she was indeed speaking the truth. Seeing how trapped he looked pleased her. She continued to taunt him, grinning and leaning in close, the floral aroma teasing him once more. 

"It looks like you will be kept here for a long time until you learn to follow simple instructions." With a smile on her lipsticked lips, she reached into a handbag that Turnbull had not noticed her carrying before and pulled out a roll of tape. With ease, she tore a piece off. A hand was on his face and he could feel himself perspire as those cold eyes scrutinised him like an insect under a magnifying glass. "You seem so much more charming when you're silent. I say we should keep it that way." Without much ado, she stuck the tape on his lips. He tried to pull the tape off, but she had grabbed his wrists roughly.

" _Behave_." Thatcher warned, a finger to his face. He tried to argue, but the tape had forbid him to do so. The next instruction was just as mechanical.  

"Remove your garments." Hands shaking in both excitement and nervousness (he could not tell which one it was), he did exactly as she said, not wanting to anger her further. From what he heard, she had a ferocious temper that was difficult to calm.

Stepping out from the pile of discarded clothing, he turned towards her, sweating and begging for something, some way to release him out of his misery. To his surprise, the Prime Minister drew out a pair of handcuffs to which she clasped onto his wrists. She stared downwards, noticing his erection. She knew just as well what he was thinking. 

 Then, taking his hand almost lovingly, she undid one of the cuffs, only to latch it to the back of the chair. 

"Get on your knees." She demanded, watching the poor barrister shift uncomfortably on the floor. He was now facing the chair, away from her and in the most vulnerable position possible. The anxiety was filling his every thought and if he was not wearing the tape, he would scream. 

_What are you going to do to me, you mad bitch? What are you going to do to my body?!_

Something hard and cold touched his back, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. He could not tell what it was at all.

“Now, stay still. This won’t hurt…much. If you can take this like a man, I will let you go.” Her other hand gripped his hair and he guessed that it might have been a cane or a riding crop on his back. The woman was even crazier than he had initially thought. She leaned close. “Now…please. Give me what I want. Reverse the decision of the court…or continue what you were doing.”

He shook his head frantically. In response, the cold steel smacked against his back. There was a muffled cry.

“Do you still want to do it, or will I have to go harder on you?”

He shook his head. _Never._ He did not want to give her the satisfaction.

She could read his very thoughts. The crop went down on him, three…no five more times. His back was beginning to sting and he could not handle the pain any longer.

A hand traced against the wounds, a soft cool feminine hand to ease him from a moment of torture. He lay very still, hoping that she was going to help him. To his delight, it swept beneath him, fondling every sensitive part that only he knew. Under the tape, he murmured in approval, closing his eyes, hoping so desperately that she would continue. 

“You like that, do you?” She asked, her voice very close to his ear now. Her fingers continued, breathing heavily with so much arousal. Her voice lowered to a whisper, “Ha…and you thought you had won. But even though you have won the case, you have not defeated me, and you will never defeat me. Nobody will believe you, not a single living soul. This will be the only secret you will keep.” 

Suddenly the truth began to dawn on him. She wasn’t at all after the reversal of the decision after all. It was about dominance. The Iron Lady was willing to wield power to a man that had helped to expose her nation’s secrets.

Knowing that he was about to reach his climax, she removed the tape from his mouth. To hear him moan embarrassingly of his own defeat was going to give her as much satisfaction as she needed. But he tried to hold back. 

“N-no.” He gasped in defiance. Despite being cuffed to the chair, he spun around, wincing slightly in pain “I’ll tell everyone.” He bragged, “One day everyone will know of your dirty secret-“ A slight moan interrupted his threat. He knew that he was lying. She was correct. There was no way that anyone would believe his story. All the wounds on his back would heal and he would only sound like a madman. “I…I’ll tell everyone. You’ll see. Once I am Prime Minister, I’ll…”

“So you DO want to become Prime Minister.” She chuckled, her nails digging into his thighs. She knew him far too well. He cried out in pleasure, unable to control himself. “But even so…you will have to try harder to hide your moments of weakness. Remember, Turnbull: _To wear your heart on your sleeve_ isn't a very good plan; you should _wear_ it inside, where it functions best.”

For a few moments, he sat there, savouring his pleasure. He could feel it coming, but she had left him. Betrayal. Never had he felt so weak. Was this how harsh the political world was going to be? 

“Please…” He begged weakly. He was practically crawling, “Please, help me…”

Suddenly, his cuffs were gone and he was free from a bind. The intoxicating, feminine aroma surrounded him once more and he felt something soft press against him. He turned around, wrapping his arms around the older woman’s now bare body. _  
_

“That is the response I’ve wanted to hear.” She whispered, her eyes sparkling in the darkness. In that moment of tenderness, he realised that he was rewarded and god, how much he loved her. At that, their lips met and they kissed before they lay on the floor to surrender to the darkness together. 

*

Years later, Turnbull stared out at the bright, blue sky from the balcony. He was now in charge, the most powerful man in the country. Even though he had liked to think of such an achievement as his own, he could not forget the time he had spent with the former Prime Minister who had shown him just how important persistence was. But nobody needed to know. It was a secret he had vowed to keep and he was forever going to keep it.

"Malcolm, it's for you." His wife called, holding out a phone to him. With a smile, he took the phone from her and answered. 

"It's that senator again." His secretary sighed on the other side of the line. Turnbull laughed. He did not need any further explanation. Cory Bernardi*, the most conservative senator was once again complaining about his policies. 

"Bring him to my office first thing tomorrow." Turnbull instructed calmly. An idea began to stir in his mind.

"Very well sir." 

 

That next day, Bernardi arrived promptly in the Prime Minister’s office. His face was flushed with excitement. Unbeknownst to the older man, he had planned for this day for a very long time. 

“Good morning, Cory. What can I do for you?” Turnbull asked sweetly, his blue eyes twinkling, much like a certain British Prime Minister long before him.

“I want to run for office.” The younger man demanded, wasting no time to get straight to the point. There was something in his tone, which reminded Turnbull of that woman. He smiled, remembering that his colleagues had spoken of Bernardi’s obsession with the Iron Lady.

Standing up from his chair, he walked jovially towards his visitor; now nemesis. Nothing in his words had shocked him. If anything, they amused him.

“Oh? And how do you propose to do that?”

“It’s about time someone does something about wrong direction this party is taking. You may have convinced everyone to turn left, but you won’t certainly turn me. I want to restore the _right_ values of this party. The conservatives _need_ someone for this job, someone to properly represent them.”

Turnbull put his hands on his hips, a lazy grin on his face. It was as if he was listening to a friend speaking to him at a barbeque, rather than a new enemy that was to snatch his position under his feet.

“And who do you think should represent the conservatives best? You?” Bernardi could have sworn that there were tears of laughter threatening to seep out of Turnbull’s eyes. It made him all the more furious. How could he not take him seriously? 

“Yes. Yes I do. And I will.” Bernardi said fiercely, fists clenching from behind his back, like a secret punch he was about to deliver _._ It was the punch that he knew that Turnbull deserved. He was going to be the next conservative leader who was not going to fall like his poor predecessor. It was almost admirable with how the young conservative had dedicated his memory to the contents of _The Downing Street Years_. But it was such a shame that their policies did not coincide. Someone as dedicated as the young conservative would have been a valuable asset to the team. 

“You mark my words. I will help direct this party…and this country, back to where it belongs.”

For a split second, Turnbull’s cheerful expression had disappeared and in his eyes there was so much discontent. The often-amused eyebrows had knotted together with frustration. Perhaps now he was realising how trapped he really was, for there was no longer a smile on his face. He raised a hand up, close towards Bernardi and the man instinctively cowered, thinking that he was going to slap him. Yet instead it landed on his cheek as if they were lovers. Oh, how the young Senator would have been envious of that time long ago where Turnbull had spent it with the woman he loved. She probably would have loved him too, his undying loyalty to her and her principles. He would be the perfect sub. Yet Thatcher was already gone. All Turnbull could do was remember exactly how harsh, but tenderly she had treated him.

And like her, perhaps he too was going to fall from power. But he did not mind that one bit, not with how it was about to end. He stopped the thought from pervading his mind. No. He was going to fight until the very end. Because even if Bernardi thought he had a chance of winning, he was not going to forget who was truly superior.

"Come…” He muttered, his voice low and his smile unusually alluring “I'll show you how it's done." 

With a smile, he beckoned him into the darkness. 

**Author's Note:**

> *Footnotes for historical explanations: 
> 
> Spycatcher: This was the name of a book that an agent had published. The Thatcher government had strongly opposed of the publication. Yet Malcolm Turnbull, former lawyer turned politician had defended its publication and won the case. It was this case which had inspired me to write a crack fic based on Thatcher’s revenge after his victory. 
> 
> “To wear your heart on your sleeve isn't a very good plan; you should wear it inside, where it functions best.”: This was a quote that Thatcher actually said. The quote also gives some insight into the former Prime Minister’s seemingly harsh, uncompromising political style.
> 
> Corey Bernardi: A senator of the Liberal Party with strongly conservative views. While this encounter with Turnbull and Bernardi was entirely fictional, it is true that the senator is a huge admirer of Margaret Thatcher and might have been inspired by some of her views.


End file.
